My new bed is at my sister's mother in law's house! I think I'll go there tonight as I am 5 minutes away if mum calls me, and Dad slept all night and didn't need anything. Yes, my aunt and uncle are here and that's been a great lift for dad, which is wonderful. Unfortunately I couldn't sleep in the flat next door as the single bed in the second room has been removed.
Email to Trish:
Hi - my dad is home now. His mobility is poor (i.e. non existent) but at least he is comfortable and slept last night (first night home).
Comment added in May:
Ah yes - learning new life skills. Here's what happened on the Tuesday that dad came home (13th March). The hospital had booked an ambulance for Dad but said it was too late for me to book a seat in it. So I decided to go to the hospital anyway, to pick up Dad's things and sit with him while he waited for the ambulance (they'd said anytime before noon). Got there about 9, and Dad was sitting in his chair, looking a bit fed up. He said his INR levels were high and so he might not be able to come home. Lucy, his nurse, explained to me that they'd tested him the night before and his INR was too high. So they tested again at 6am, but were a few millilitres of blood short of being able to run a proper test! So they'd just sent off a new sample for urgent testing and would let us know.
We decided to get Dad's stuff ready anyway, just in case he was coming home. I took a few bags of stuff down to the car. Other than that I just sat with Dad, chatting. Around 10-ish, they came to say he could go home (thank goodness). Shortly after, Mr Tighe and his team of hanger-onners came round. He wanted to see Dad. I must admit, I panicked a bit, and practically ran out of the cubicle. Partly because I didn't want to see Dad's "bag" (he'd been left with a stoma bag from the unhealed laparoscopy wound, and by this time it was leaking faecal matter and pus). Partly because I felt a bit emotional anyway, and didn't want to hear any conversations about the cancer. In my defence, I also thought that if Dad wanted to ask his Consultant anything in private (like - how long have I got) then it wasn't fair for me to stay. So I ran down to the loo. Then I came back and the medical team was still in with Dad. Lucy saw me lurking in the corridor and said I could go back in. "Erm, no it's ok".
Eventually they left and I skulked back in. Dad seemed fine. Mr Tighe spotted me and came over. "Ok?" He asked. "Yes". "Fully informed about everything?". "Yes".
Dad said that Mr Tighe had told him he could possibly have some chemotherapy, if he "picked up a bit". Dad replied that he didn't want any treatment that was going to drag this out for him or the family. I said something like "well, it's up to you Dad but you should make sure you think about yourself and find out what they mean". No, he said. I've had a good life. I've been happy with your mum, and we've been happy haven't we? As a family? I agreed with him, and then he said he wasn't even thinking "Why me?". More along the lines of "Well, why not me".
So we both had a little cry together and then we got on with the job of packing his bags and getting ready to go home. And chatting about anything and nothing. Dad was keen to ensure that there were no "welcome home" banners up at the flat!
Lucy then came to explain some things to me. First, she showed me how to change Dad's catheter bag. Ok. Next, how to empty his Stoma Bag. Right. Then she went through all his meds with me. She gave me a number we could call to borrow a wheelchair for days out. And gave me two huge bags full of catheter bags and leg bags and all sorts of paraphenalia. Oh, and the "emergency" Stoma supply bag, to see us through until our full kit arrived. It suddenly started to dawn on me what we were about to take on at home.
While I was sitting there a vicar or minister or whatever you called him came round. I asked if he needed some time with Dad. Dad said no, they'd had a good long chat a few weeks ago. He just wanted to wish Dad all the best for going home. He left Dad a card with some nice prayers on it. Dad handed it to me and said "Put that in your bag, Jan."
Eventually the ambulance arrived. Lucy had come to talk to me about some last minute meds that came back from the pharmacy - Warfarin, I think - and so before I knew it Dad was gone! I barely got time to say goodbye to the Nurses (and I was getting upset doing so, anyway) and by the time I got downstairs there was no sign of Dad. I headed home and still beat Dad back by a good 30 minutes! Apparently his ambulance was taking 2 people home.
When he got home, the guys got him in his room and onto his bed. Immediately, it was apparent that the stoma bag had leaked. And there started our relationship with stoma bags, smells and poo (for want of the more technical term). We decided to wait until Brian (the District Nurse) arrived, as we knew he was coming at around 3-ish. Poor Dad had to sit there in it.
The Occupational Therapists arrived with more paraphenalia. A commode/wheelchair that worked either on its own, or rolled over the loo. A zimmer frame. Can't remember what else.
When Brian arrived he said he'd change the bag, but he'd need help to hold Dad upright. Lorraine got the job. I hot footed it into the lounge. The stink coming from Dad's room was horrendous.... at this point we didn't realise we'd get used to it in a day or so. Well - Lorraine and I would - Mum never did.
Finally, Dad was sorted out and settled. He lay on his new bed for a short while and then decided that it wasn't going to work, as he kept sliding down and it was making his pressure sores hurt more. So we moved him onto his recliner chair, where he stayed for over a week until the proper hospital bed arrived. I can't remember how we got Dad out of bed and onto his chair - I'm sure the wheelchair was involved somehow, but I know that over the course of the first few days after Dad got home, we became quite adept at moving him and getting him up. But the truth is, we were making it up as we went along and really had no clue whatsoever on handling a disabled person. Luckily Dad knew how they did things in the hospital, so he helped us a lot (or rather, gave the orders out!).
We were also quite shocked at home little Dad ate. Such tiny, tiny portions of everything. Something else we got used to.
No comments:
Post a Comment